


Speechless

by Zaira_Angel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian is once again shocked people care about him, Getting Back Together, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, The Inquisitor is kind of momish, Wicked Grace, break-up, commitment issues, it's a little fluffy guys, long akward silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9828875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaira_Angel/pseuds/Zaira_Angel
Summary: “You’re speechless.” Bull points out. “That’s all it takes, someone giving a crap about you.”Tevinter never did lend itself to delicacy. Dorian learned to adapt.





	

_“If you want to make this a regular thing,” Bull says “We’re gonna need to lay down some ground rules.”_

_“Bull if it’s magic you’re worried about, I can assure yo-”_

_“It’s not,” Bull cuts him off. “If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t have taken you to bed in the first place, this is about making sure everyone enjoys themselves.”_

Dorian arches his back, his fingernails dig into the pillows behind his head. He bites his lip in some attempt to hide the needy noises that pour from his lips. Large hands grip his hips as Bull slowly pushes inside him. And when they are flush against one another, a throaty moan escapes from Dorian. Bull’s arms bracket Dorian as he leans down to kiss the mage, deep and hungry.

_“If you’re ever uncomfortable, if you want me to stop,” Bull starts, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You say ‘Katoh’ and everything stops, no questions, no judgment.”_

Bull moves slowly, at first, then picking up the pace as the other man’s body adjusts. He pulls back but Dorian’s arm snakes around Bull’s shoulders, the other arm gripping the base of his horn pulling him back into a bruising kiss. Dorian keeps him here, close to him. Bull could easily break his hold, but instead, redirects his attentions peppering kisses along Dorian’s jaw. Then onto his neck, he nips until he reaches the junction between Dorian’s neck and shoulder, leaving a large mark to match the smaller ones. Now he begs Bull. A little breathless ‘please’ over and over in Bull’s ear spurs him on. He comes with Bull's name on his lips, his nails digging into the skin of Bull’s back. That pushes Bull over the edge, finishing inside the mage.

_“Do you intend to do something that would make me use that word?” Dorian asks._

_“No. The watchword is for both of us. I’m not interested in hurting you,” He smirks, the tiniest uptick at the corner of his lips. “Unless you want me to.”_

Dorian has to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Schools his expression and smiles rakishly instead. Settling in on the Bulls lap, arms around his neck. A kiss to seal a pact. Even if Dorian doesn't entirely believe him.

Bull lay next to Dorian, both panting heavily. Dorian lets out a short breathless laugh he maneuvers himself closer to the larger man, resting his chin on Bull’s shoulder. He smiles fondly at him, a hulking arm snaking around his waist. He traces the cartography of scars with gentle fingers. Moments like these were something he’d once shied away from. Things had changed.

_“Is that ‘yes’ to all terms?” Bull says against Dorian's lips._

_“Yes,” Dorian says, his hands roam the expanse of Bull’s chest. “To all terms.”_

_He wants this. Wants Bull. And this seems the way it must be.  
_

Instinct told Dorian that he ought to leave. Though Bull had never asked him to, or even implied that he ever wanted him to leave. The warmth and comfort of his bed partner is not an unappealing thought. But he’s almost afraid to hope-

And Bull is doing it again. Stroking up and down Dorian’s back like a spoiled house cat. Bull knows Dorian loves it, and he hates that he loves it. Though it has Dorian practically purring.

“You’re a wretched man, you know.” He says sleepily.

Dorian falls asleep to the low rumble of Bull’s laughter.

~~~

When Dorian wakes up the hazy pink light of daybreak is seeping in from the splintered ceiling. His eyes flutter shut briefly before he opens them again, suddenly aware of where he is, whom he’s entangled himself with and exactly what time of day it is. He slowly attempts to untangle himself from gray limbs and woolen sheets, he manages to get to the edge of the bed before he hears Bull rouse from his slumber.

“Sorry,” he says, an automatic response, over his shoulder.

“Hm?” Bull says through a yawn.

“I’m sorry I didn’t-” Dorian realizes he’s not entirely sure why he’s apologizing. Bull seemed perfectly content having Dorian sleeping next to him. Or, perhaps more accurately, on top of him. “I didn’t mean to wake you, this doesn’t have to be-”  
“Relax, big guy,” Bull interrupts “This isn’t Tevinter, you don’t have to sneak off in the dead of night anymore.”

It was far less painful then Dorian though it would be, though no less disconcerting.

“ ‘sides, there are benefits to waking up next to someone,” Bull moves towards the mage, nuzzling the nape of his neck before biting down on the flesh there. Dorian lets out something between a laugh and a moan, before falling right back into bed with the Bull.

~~~

There were few enough men in this world who would have him for more than a few nights. The thing is, Maker help him, he likes Bull. But Dorian keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for that moment when Bull will kick up his ‘power’ thing. And when- if- it does, Dorian isn’t quite sure what he’ll do about it. Being tied up and manhandled isn’t so bad when it’s Bull. Though in his experience, men who tied him up in the past never stopped there. Dorian even had a few faint scars from when his bed partners got too rough. Tevinter never did lend itself to delicacy. Those men would take things too far, Dorian would indulge them for a night and never return to them.

More than anything, Dorian hopes Bull is not one of those kinds of men.

~~~

“So,” The Inquisitor starts one night after everyone else has retired. “You and The Iron Bull?” She had just uncorked a bottle of...whatever paint remover she’s passing off for liquor. She takes a swig and offers the bottle to Dorian. He accepts.

“Yes, well,” He necks the bottle, winces a bit at the burn and the taste. “I’m not sure you can judge me for my poor relationship choices, Inquisitor.”

She kicks harmlessly at his shins. He teases her about Sera often, though -and he will never admit this- he finds them rather cute. ‘They’re good for each other,’ Bull had told him once. And he’d been right.

“And?” She says taking the bottle back. She sips it casually.

“And, what?”

“You and Bull, of course.”

“Is this Official Business?” Dorian asks, rounding out the vowels sarcastically. The bottle passes again, he drinks.

“I’m asking as a friend.” She says sincerely. Dorian feels a twinge of guilt for assuming she just wanted to mock him. He wondered if she had done this to Bull as well.

“It’s...something. A whole lot of something. At first an ill-considered night after drinking. And then there was a second. And then,” He sighs, “I don’t know what’s going on, to be honest. I suspect neither does the Bull.”

“Something to write home about then?” She asks, accepting the bottle.

“What?”

“Is that why you’re fucking Bull?” She necks the bottle and keeps her voice casual, but somehow it feels like an accusation. “To get back at your father?”

“I-” Dorian stutters for a moment, before regaining himself; that’s new. “I never thought about it honestly.” He lets out a huff of laughter. “Though now that I’ve said it aloud my ancestors are turning in their graves.”

“Good,” The bottle passes to him. “Bull’s a good man. I think-” She pauses, looking thoughtful.

“I think you’ll be good for each other.”

It seems an odd statement to Dorian. But the alcohol is already making his head swim and he couldn’t bring himself to argue in such a state. The bottle passes, the subject changes. A whole lot of something, indeed.

  
~~~

Dorian’s hands are tied above him. And despite his best efforts, those desperate mewls still manage their way out of his mouth. He can feel Bull’s pleased chuckle against his thighs. Maker, he’s doing this on purpose. Bull nips and sucks at the skin on his inner thighs, passing over his leaking cock. He wants Dorian to beg, to debase himself.

It’s nothing new, plenty of men have enjoyed the sight of the dashing altus begging to be fucked. It’s the ‘power thing’. But there’s one thing different about this scene. Bull is between Dorian’s legs, ready and willing to suck him off. The men in his past loved to see Dorian of House Pavus on his knees. But this...

He’s a weak man, so he begs.

“Please, Bull,” He moans desperately as Bulls lips roam from thigh to hip. He sucks a bruise there. He lets out another chuckle. And Dorian begs again. A litany of ‘pleases’.

Bull rewards him, takes Dorian into his mouth, and Dorian keens. His hands ball into fists lacking anything to purchase. He can feel Bull’s pleased hum around his aching cock. He pulls Dorian’s legs over his shoulders for better access, laps teasingly along the mage’s cock from root to tip.

Dorian moves his hands in an attempt to touch Bull, but the bonds are secure, and keep them in place. He arches his back, biting his lower lip, sounds and half-words pour out of him as Bull takes him deep into his throat. He swallows around the other man’s cock pushing him over the edge.

When he finally comes out of his orgasm induced haze, Bull is uniting his arms. Dorian expects some debaucherous request from Bull, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he’s rubbing soothingly at Dorian’s wrists. It takes him a few more moments to realized that Bull had already finished himself off.

This, of course, made Dorian feel some way in particular. Guilty? Perhaps a bit fearful even.

This wasn’t the way things happened in Tevinter. You made sure your bed partner finished, of course, it’s a matter of pride. But why go to all the trouble of tying them down, making them beg, give them a bone-ratting orgasm only tug yourself off like it's an afterthought?

The only explanation that fits into Dorian’s experience is blackmail. And oh, was that an ugly thought. A thought he certainly didn’t want to believe about the Bull. Best not to think about that too long, or at all even.

But it nags at him, even when he lies on top of Bull, tracing those familiar scars. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heart until, by the Grace of Andreste, he falls into blissful sleep.

~~~

“Is there anything you need me to do?” Bull asks, suddenly one night when Dorian is in his lap, arms around his neck, enjoying a series of drawn out, lazy kisses.

“Hmm?” Dorian asks distractedly between their -rather chaste- kisses.

“I told you, ground rules,” Bull says. “But do you have anything you enjoy, anything I can do for you.”

It seems an odd question to Dorian. He pulls back. Was the fact that he wound up in bed every other night with Bull not enough to show he was enjoying himself?

“I’m not sure I take your meaning, Bull.”

“No one’s ever asked you what you wanted in bed?” Bull cocks his head then sighs. “Of course they haven’t.”

Dorian stills in Bull’s lap, does his best to keep his face neutral. Of course, that in and of itself is a giveaway to the Bull.

“You know you can ask for things in bed?” Bull kept careful eye contact.

Dorian suddenly feels the urge to run. Perhaps not literally run, but just get out of this room. Out of this conversation. He even goes so far as to stand, though he makes no other move to leave Bull’s room. He simply stands.

“You’re speechless.” Bull points out. “That’s all it takes, someone giving a crap about you.”

Seconds drag on until nearly a full minute passes, Bull on the edge of the bed, and Dorian only a few feet away.

“What is this, Bull?” Is all Dorian can manage.

“What do you mean?”

“What is this, what are we doing?” Dorian can feel something swell in his chest.

“It’s whatever you need it to be. I’m good if you want to keep it casual...” He trails off before the ‘or’. That’s what scares Dorian. There can’t be an ‘or’. The ‘or’ is a relationship, and that’s something that can never be.

Not for them.

“I can’t,” Dorian starts. “I’m not doing this, we can’t do this...”

Dorian repeats this and a few other things he’s not entirely aware of, while he gathers the layers he’d shed moments earlier. He leaves Bull, sitting on the edge of the bed, glancing back briefly at a face painfully neutral.

~~~

“So you and Bull?” Elle asks sitting on the edge of Dorian’s desk.

“Yes, yes,” Dorian huffs. "You've known about that for quite some time, why do you insist on asking about it?”

“Because suddenly you can’t seem to be far enough away from the man,” She persists. “When only days ago I nearly caught you two on the battlements. And then again on the war table. And a third time in the stables.”

Ugh, the stables. Now that was a bad idea. Truthfully, Dorian was almost glad when The Inquisitor showed up. Almost.

“So,” She crosses her arms. “What’s changed?”

“It’s of no concern, Inquisitor,” Dorian keeps his tone light. “It’s not going to cause problems, it was a...momentary diversion. A fling. And now it’s over.”

“That so?” She keeps her tone even and her eyes locked on him.

“I’m not going to break out into tears, if that was what you were expecting,” Dorian stands and turns his attentions to the bookshelf, his back facing her. “Better men than he have turned me down and I’m little worse for wear.”

“So he ended it?” She pries.

“No- it was-” He stammers before collecting himself and beginning again. “It was all very amicable. It’s not as if it was a-”

“Relationship?” She offers.

He knows, by her tone, she’s joking. A trick out of Dorian’s own handbook. It’s always easier to be snide then actually face whatever ugly emotions are lurking about. What she’s asking is what their dalliance truly was. But of that, even that Dorian is unsure of. He opts for redirection, anything to get him out of the conversation.

“Inquisitor,” He says formally, straightening and turning on his heels. “I am in the middle of something. With your leave, I’d like very much to get back to it.”

She lets out a sigh of resignation and stands. She bows dramatically, one hand tucked behind her back, the other stretched out at her side. Dorian rolls his eyes when he’s certain she can’t see.

“With my leave,” She says sarcastically before straightening. “But we are friends. You ever want to talk, I’ll be around.”

He watches her walk away, down the stairs. He returns to his books. He absently skims the shelves, running a hand along a few of the spines. Dreadfully boring, trite propaganda, long-winded droning memoir...

He sat back at his desk. A familiar ache settles into his chest. He curses the instinct that tells him to seek out comfort in Bull.

That wretched man, Dorian thinks as he snaps his book shut. _Maker, is he really about to cry?_ He pushes himself up, his chair screeching loudly across the floor, he’s even managed to move the table as well. Eyes turn to him, Dorian composes himself as best he can as he made his way out of the library and to his quarters.

~~~

The Inquisitor saved an Empress and had the Court wrapped around her finger. It’s nothing short of miraculous, as usual. Dorian had told her she was ‘amazing above all others’ and she had only proved him right. She was exactly what they needed when they needed it. It was hard to believe it was all truly a coincidence. Now the nobles that turned their nose up at the ‘savage Dalish’ all clamored for her approval, all in the span of a few hours.

As much as Dorian loves fine wine there isn’t enough of the stuff in all Orlais to keep him interested in Orlesian’s ‘charming’ conversation. Before long he found himself in the garden enjoying the cool night air, away from the sneering nobles. The Winter Palace is beautiful, he’d hadn't much chance to notice, with the threats of assassination looming ominously over their heads. There are few enough people out here, most of them crowded in the Ballroom, drinking, dancing, and clamoring to get an in with The Inquisitor. From here he sees Elle on the balcony. Sera puts a hand on her shoulder, and though Dorian can’t see her face, he knows how Elle is looking at her; bright eyes, crooked grin. He can hear Sera’s laugh echo through the garden. He feels a pang of longing.

“If you wanna dance all you have to do is ask,” Bull says suddenly appearing behind him. Dorian jumps and turns to face him.

“What?” He says reflexively.

“You’re looking all starry-eyed at the happy couple,” The faintest hint of a smile crosses Bull’s lips. “If you want to dance, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

Bull steps closer, tucks his arm behind his back, the other outstretched and bows slightly. His posture is downright proper, and, against his better judgment, Dorian takes the proffered hand. Bull pulls him close, one hand still clasped with his own, the other placed on the small of his back. Bull leads with surprising grace.

They dance, surrounded by fragrant well-groomed flowers, a black sky lit by a full moon and hazy starlight as soft music drifts from the ballroom’s balcony where the Inquisitor shares a dance with her lover. It’s all so romantic, the kind of thing Cassandra would read about in one of those awful novels. Dorian kept his head turned, afraid of what he might see -or do- if he looked up at Bull.

He’s a weak man, and he looks only to see Bull’s easy smile, his eye bright with the sort of affection that makes Dorian’s heartache. His eyes flicker to the other man’s lips, and he thinks, in another life, he would surge up to met them. The dance continues, and Bull dips him, smiling roguishly. Dorian feels his chest flutter wildly.

When he’s upright again he stops and steps away from Bull.

“What’s wrong, big guy?” Bull keeps his tone light, but his face has changed slightly. Not so unreadable to the mage now. Or perhaps Dorian imagined it because it’s gone in an instant.

“We can’t, Bull,” Dorian is aware of how he sounds. The forbidden romance that Varric would so love to write about. The emotion in his voice is real, and, Maker, does it truly hurt. It will hurt more later, He thinks, better to do this now.

“We can’t what?” Bull huffs out a laugh. “Dance?”

“No, we can’t do this,” He gestures widely. “Whatever ‘this’ is, we can’t do it.”

“Why not?” Bull asks. Not angrily, not upset, a genuine question. “What’s stopping us? Not the Qun. Not your father. Not The Inquisitor. What exactly is stopping us, kadan?”

Dorian can tell from the context and the way Bull said it, that it was an endearment. It stung, and he could feel the emotion rise in his chest once again. He swallows, hoping he can quell the ache there with his will alone. It’s never once worked, but it might this time.

“Speechless again,” Bull laughs again, without a hint of mirth.

“Katoh,” Dorian says after a moment.

Dorian didn’t know what to expect when and if he used that word. There was a flash of something on Bull’s face, then back to neutral. Such a change from the coy smile he’d had on moments ago.

“I understand,” Bull says. With that, he simply walks away.

~~~

Things still feel strange. Bull seems to hold no ill will, but there are no lascivious comments, in fact, they hardly speak at all. Dorian wonders if Bull thinks it makes it easier for him. Even after weeks pass, Dorian finds it difficult to quell the desire to seek Bull out. It’s not even the sex he misses, Maker help him, it’s the man himself. Misses his presence, his voice, his touch. By some small grace, he’s managed not to cry over it.

He does drink over it. Drinks over it alone, mostly. He still sees Bull when Varric pulls together a game of Wicked Grace. He avoided it at first, fearing the rest of the Inner Circle would be angry with him. But no mentions it, Dorian suspects, on Bull’s request.

Dorian’s already halfway through a bottle when Varric invites him to a game, he wants to refuse, but Varric insists, and insists until Dorian finally gives in. He takes his place at the table and to Dorian’s surprise, Cullen and Josephine are both there. It’s no small feat to drag the commander away from his work. Cullen shifts uncomfortably in his seat while Varric scampers off to find The Inquisitor.

“Easy on the booze there, Sparkler,” Varric says jokingly, though it somehow doesn’t sound much like a joke. “You’ll pass out before we even deal the way you’re going.”

“You seem to have enough people, Varric,” Cullen says annoyed, pushing himself up urgently. “If you don’t mind I have work to attend to.”

“If anyone needs a hobby, Curly, it’s you,” Varric says. “Deal him in, Ruffles.”

“Losing money can be both relaxing and habit forming,” Dorian jokes. The inquisitor takes a seat next to him. Bull sits across from him, Dorian finds himself staring. It’s reflexive, to a point. But he looks away almost too quickly when he sees Bull looking back. Dorian expects a wink and a crooked grin, maybe even a lewd comment. But it never comes. Of course, it doesn’t. It’s well and truly over. He turns his attention back to the game.

~~~

Josephine wins, again. Dorian suspected she was perhaps better than she let on but he didn’t expect her to clean out everyone so thoroughly. Everyone seemed to catch on to the ruse, except The Commander who was determined to bring her to ruin, even now.

“And the Dealer takes everything,” Josephine says. “I win again.”

“Deal again. I’ve figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador.” Cullen says, a little more aggressively than is necessary. Is this what a few drinks turns him into? Dorian can’t help but watch in amusement. He’d been totally sloshed by the third hand and ended up folding to keep some semblance of dignity. He rests his chin on a hand and watches The Commander dig his grave.

“Commander!” She feigns outrage, before leaning forward coyly and batting her lashes. Oh, she is delightful! “Everyone knows a Lady has no tells.”

“Then let’s see if your good fortune lasts one more hand,” Cullen says with the faintest edge of cockiness that Dorian didn’t think was possible. It suits him, he thinks, as his eyes trace his jawline. He wonders what that stubbled chin would feel like on his. Wonders what kind of man Cullen really is, in the dark.

“I’m not losing anymore coin to Josephine,” Elle says, obviously just as amused and Dorian. “But I’ve got to see this.”

~~~

By the end of the game, Sera is passed out on The Inquisitor's lap and Cullen is sitting naked next to Varric. Cullen says something low and annoyed in the dwarf's direction.

“I tried to warn you, Curly.” He laughs.

“Never bet against an Antivan, Commander,” Josephine warns.

“I’m leaving,” Cassandra says suddenly, her voice still hard despite the touch of amusement apparent in her face. “I don’t want to witness our Commander's walk of shame back to the barracks.”

“Well, I do.” Dorian slurs. His eyes dance along Cullen’s arms, across his chest, down a bit further. Their eyes meet, Cullen looks more confused than angry. Dorian smirks flirtatiously. Cullen rolls his eyes.

Elle tisks playfully in his general direction. “Think you can make it to your room, alright?” She asks.

“Oh, I’ve managed to navigate to my room in worse states,” Dorian says. “But thank you, it seems you have your hands full anyway.”  
Dorian gestures to the sleeping elf spiraled across her lap.

“Yes, well- Goodnight Dorian,” She gathers up Sera in her arms. “Commander.” She flashes a crooked grin at the naked man.

“Inquisitor.” He manages with a curt nod.

Dorian allows himself one last look at Cullen -he is a very handsome man after all- and pushes himself up. He’s mostly out of the room when he hears Cullen’s bare feet quickly pad away. He stumbles a bit, catching himself on the stone wall before a wave of nausea bubbles up from his stomach. Cheap wine never did agree with him, but he’s old hand at this and he steadies himself well enough. Though the stairs prove a bit more challenging. He feels a large hand on his back. Without looking he knows it's Bull.

“Ya’ alright, big guy?” Bull asks, and Dorian recognizes the familiar tone of concern in his voice. He should draw away, but his head is swimming. Everything about this situation is so familiar it’s easy to fall back into a habit. Maybe just tonight... He thinks ridiculously, but in such a state he can’t manage to talk himself out of it. He’s always easier after wine, he knows.

“I hit the wine particularly hard tonight,” He slurs, only vaguely aware of just how drunk he sounds. “You know how it is.” He’s touching Bull, he realizes, his hand is on the center of Bull’s chest. He can’t even bring himself to care. He feels warm and leans into Bull.

“Alright, enough,” Bull gently bats Dorian’s hand away. “You really are drunk, let’s get you to your room.”

~~~

Dorian leans on Bull all the way back to his room, Bull even has to unlock and open the door for him.

“Get some shut eye,” Bull says steering Dorian through the door, but Dorian it seems has other plans. He pulls on Bull’s harness, almost toppling both of them to the floor, to bring him down into a kiss. It’s sloppy and urgent, and he can taste the melody of alcohol Dorian had consumed that night on his lips. Dorian has the advantage of surprise, but before he can deepen the kiss, Bull pulls away.

“You’re drunk,” He says.

“And?” Dorian asks as he attempts to pull the larger man into his room. Bull, against his judgment, goes.

“You don’t think what you’re doing now has anything to do with it?” Bull asks.

“Oh come now,” Dorian says. “Does it really matter to you? I know you want me.”

Bull scoops him off the floor, Dorian laughs and nuzzles Bull’s neck, nips at the fleshy parts of his ears. Dorian’s right. Bull does want him, that much hasn’t changed. Even drunk, Dorian still knows the right spots to hit. Molten heat runs through him and for a moment all Bull can think about is pinning him to the bed, removing all those layers...

“No,” Bull says simply and deposits the mage onto his bed. “You’re drunk, Dorian, really drunk. You made a pass at Cullen. That’s not what I’d call ‘thinking clearly.’ Now get some sleep.”

Dorian whines on the bed, as Bull removes his shoes and piles blankets onto of him, batting away his grabbing hands all the way. Dorian makes a few more half-hearted attempts at Bull before he finally sleeps, or passes out.

~~~

Dorian wakes with a splitting headache, a bad taste in his mouth and no small about of embarrassment. He’d not only made a pass at Bull but Cullen too- and in front of everyone. If that wasn’t enough Bull had to put him to bed like a child. He slowly comes to the realization that the curtains in his room have been closed, a glass of water left by his bed, and a clean bucket on the floor.

Even after everything he did to Bull, the man is still taking care of him. He feels a small smile tug on the corner of his lips, just before a flurry of emotions take him. Shame, despondency, and then anger. A perfect recipe of self-hate. At this point, he’d hit the bottle, but it’s not even noon, and he’s unwilling to totally succumb to his reputation as a miserable drunk. Instead, he reaches for the water. He takes a long draw from it. What a fine mess he’s made for himself.

Standing doesn’t help his headache, but disappearing for a day would bring a worried Inquisitor right to his door. For someone who made world-altering decisions in moments, she sure did a lot of hang wringing. It’d be adorable if it wasn’t also so often infuriating. Bull had taken ill once and Dorian spend most of the time shooing her away from his room.

There was that ache again. He finished off his water. _Pull yourself together, Dorian,_ He thinks, making his way to the basin. He scrubs his face in some fruitless attempt to clear his head. _Better men them him,_ He tries to convince himself. Another fruitless task.

~~~

  
Bull makes his way up to Vivienne’s balcony for afternoon tea. She’d invited him to tea the first time shortly after their first meeting at Haven. He’d thought it was a joke and never took her up on it until she mentioned it on a trip to the Storm Cost. Since then it had become a somewhat regular thing, even after Haven. He’d taken tea with plenty of Nobles before, but not like this. This was a social call, not negation for work. The last time he’d had tea with her she asked about Dorian and his ‘relationship’, though not in the way he’d expected.

_“He is treating you correctly, right dear?” She had asked seemingly out of the blue one day. “I do hope he’s being gentle with you.”_  
_“Uh, no offense ma’am,” He managed. “But I’m not exactly delicate, you know.”_

“Oh, I know that, darling!” She’d said with the slightest curl to her lip as her eyes roamed the expanse of his chest. “However that’s no excuse to allow him to mistreat you in any way.”

“Dorian is-” He’d paused for a moment, a swelling affection growing in his chest. “He’s a sweet guy, gentle, and he cares under all the bluster,” he paused again for a moment. “I’m hoping we’re good for each other.”

That had been over a month ago, just before Dorian broke off their arrangement. Truth be told he’d put off tea with Vivienne because he knew Dorian would be brought up. When he reaches the top step, Vivienne is there waiting, a table with two chairs set up and a delicate silver tea set waiting. She smiles warmly.

“The Iron Bull! Darling!” She says approaching him. She touches his shoulders and reaches up to kiss his cheek. She’s tall for a human but Bull still has to lean down a bit for her to reach. “It’s been so long since we talked properly! I do have something special prepared, have a seat, dear.”

He takes a seat in the large chair Vivienne had commissioned with him specifically in mind after their first meeting. He took it as a sign of goodwill. Vivianne shows what could loosely be called affection in such ways. A good word here and there, a nice chair, a good bottle of wine.

The table is set, everything downright proper to the last detail. A delicate silver tea set, along with equally delicate looking pastries. A thin stream of steam rose from the spout of a tall silver teapot and Bull can already smell it, deep and earthy with the slightest bit of sweetness. That must have been the ‘something special’. How long had it been since he’d had red tea? It could be procured easily enough by someone like Vivienne but brewing it was perhaps a bit trickier for her. Maybe she had to use magic.

Vivienne is almost ethereal while she pours the tea, as usual. There has always been a mutual attraction between them. She never chided him for his casual looks apart from a knowing grin. Bull returned the treatment much in the same way. But that’s where it ended. She doesn’t spill a drop of tea and takes her seat across from Bull. The conversation is casual at first, borderline small talk. It’s when the second cup in poured that Vivienne points out the elephant in the room.

“So, my dear,” She begins after a sip. “You and Dorian.” She put her cup down without a sound.

“Not so much “and” anymore,” Bull says.

“You seemed rather close last night,” She folds her hands under her chin without breaking eye contact.

There’s a long pause, almost a full minute. If she feels any discomfort from the extended silence she doesn’t show it. She simply sips her tea.

“Look, ma’am,” Bull finally speaks. “Dorian needed help to his room, that’s all. He made it clear he didn’t want our arrangement to continue.”

“So he ended it?” Her tone is innocent and perfectly practiced, but there’s a glint in her eye. She already knows the answer. Bull rolls several responses around in his head. Settles on something dismissive with a curt nod. Most people would have given up then, but Madam Vivienne is not most people.

“You said once you had hoped you were good for one another,” She says almost if Bull hadn’t said anything at all. “You and I both know that whatever is ‘ _good_ ’ for Dorian he will promptly do the opposite. He’ll do the right thing in a heartbeat, but he’s more than willing to destroy himself in the process. It’s what makes him dangerous, but also what makes him great. Such things are often a double-edged sword.”

Dorian and Vivienne’s relationship has always been complicated at best. There’s respect between them, a bit of not-so-friendly competition. They butted heads, as two strong personalities tend to do. Bull knew the Vivienne had everyone's number, but it was still suppressing for him to hear her lay it all out that way. She usually kept such things close. ‘It's part of the Game, my dear. You never see your opponent's true visage.’

It suddenly occurs to Bull he’s gone totally silent. He’s not sure how long it’s been since Vivienne spoke but she’s sipping her tea looking very pleased with herself. If it were anyone but her, he’d be very annoyed by the smug look.

“Dorian broke it off,” He confesses suddenly. “It’s not as if-” He stops, not totally sure where he’s going. Vivienne has thrown him off balance, he’s not sure how to explain this situation to her. It wasn’t as if this was something to be negotiated, Dorian had explained in clear unambiguous terms that it was over. “I told him: You say stop, and it stops, no questions, no judgment-”

“Yes, that’s quintessentially _you_ , isn’t it, dear?” She waves her hand. “And Dorian running any from something good for him is quintessentially Dorian. I’m not saying you go and sweep him off to your quarters without his consent but you are still -or should be- at the very least friendly.” Her expression shifts suddenly and for a moment before her masks slips back into place. Bull wonders for a moment if he imagined it, but no, there it was. It’s further confirmed by the rattle of her tea cup as it’s returned to its place. The slight tremble would be written off by anyone else, but not by Bull. It’s empathy. Plain and simple. On some level, she’s telling him what she would have wanted. Under all that iron, she’s human after all.

“I understand, Ma’am,” Bull inclines his head and softens his expression. Her expression softens in turn -her lips curling slightly. She goes back to her tea, asking how Bull is enjoying it, explaining how she managed to arrange to get it and how she learned the trick to brewing it. Bull listens intently but his mind never strays far from the topic of Dorian.

  
~~~

Dorian leaves his room once to fetch a few books from the library. He’s embraced by his behavior, to say the least, and all he could only manage in his state was a barely pulled together look. The castle's inhabitants are all buzzing around so quickly he’s hardly noticed at all, thank The Maker. He thinks a day locked out of sight might actually do him some good, and besides that, he’s not in any hurry to face Cullen or Bull right now. If The Inquisitor needs him, she’ll know where to look.

Indeed, spending a day reading in his quarters is by far the best plan he’s concocted in a long while. His plans change when afternoon shifts to evening and he hears a knock on the door. He’s been so entranced in his books that the gentle rapping on his door startles him. Without hesitation, he invites them in, after not making a single appearance he figures it’s a worried Inquisitor here to hand wring and feel his forehead. Instead, a hulking gray figure fills the door frame. Quite the opposite of what he was expecting.

“I’m sorry to bother you, big guy,” Bull says apologetically as he stoops under the frame. “If you want me to go, just say the word and I’ll be gone, but if you want to talk this out, I’m here.”

It takes Dorian a long moment to process the other man’s words- still too busy being shocked that it’s not a fretting elf standing before him. “I’m sorry-” He begins as if to ask Bull to repeat himself but the full effect of the words hit him before he can finish the thought. “And what exactly do you want me to talk about?” He feels a sharp pain of regret in sounds so callous. He looks down at the book in his lap before closing it with a sigh.

“Forgive me, that was unworthy...” He stands, stretching slightly with the book held loosely in his left hand. He sets it on a huge pile of books, stacked next to his chair on the floor. Bull shuts the door behind him.

 “ ‘s alright,” Bull says. Neither of the two speaks again for a long while.

“So,” Bull draws out the word. “Do you want me to leave?”

Silence again, but not nearly as long. “No,” Dorian says simply. He studies Bull, wondering what this means, why he’s here and most of all why Dorian wants him to stay so badly. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Dorian takes a few steps towards Bull without fully realizing what he’s doing. He forces himself to stop. As the silence stretches on his mind runs loudly as he tries to find the words he needs to say. How to tell Bull he’s not what he expected, that it was his unrelenting kindness that scared him away, the idea that he could be more than a notch in a bedpost. He wants to apologize for the hostility he threw at Bull, even when all Bull threw back was open and unashamed admiration. He wanted to touch Bull, to take comfort in him, to stop running and drop his defenses. He wanted the safety of their bed. Their bed. Suddenly his mind whirls to a halt and he can only manage to ask a single question.   “Kadan?” He asks his voice feels breathless, but he manages to keep it steady. “You called me that at the Winter Palace. What does it mean?”

Bull moved away from the door taking a cautious step toward the other man. “There are no relationships under the Qun, not like you humans have, so terms of endearment are different, Kadan is used for friends who are close...” Bull trails off for a long moment and Dorian can feel his own heart beating in his ears. “But literally it means ‘My Heart’.”

“That’s rather romantic for a race that doesn’t have romance,” Dorian says. The both managed to huff a laugh and Dorian feels his shoulders relax. He hadn't noticed how tense they were before.

“It only sounds romantic because you’re human. The Qun is about necessity, the heart is a necessity, we can’t live without it,” Bull explains. The instinct to run comes to Dorian again, knowing what comes next, but he holds still. He doesn’t want to run, not truly, it’s simply an old habit. One he intends to break now.

“So, you’re saying you can’t live without me?”

“I suppose that’s where the poetry come in,” Bull says. “It’s not that I can’t, I just don’t want to.”

Dorian lets out a sigh. There it is. The words he’s been running from, the scary beast he’s been afraid to face this whole time. Commitment- or something close to it.

“What does that mean, then?” Dorian asks feeling rather stupid.

“It means whatever we want it to mean, but I want to be with you, as whatever you want me to be,”

Dorian moves a few steps forward and places a hand on Bull’s chest. Bull seems to relax into the touch his head inclining to meet the smaller man’s eyes. They stay like that for a moment. Dorian rolls the possibilities around in his head. He thinks of his mother and father, of Alexis and his wife, of Sera and The Inquisitor. He makes the decision and reaches up slowly to meet Bull’s mouth. It feels warm and familiar, unlike the hungry kisses they shared before falling into bed with one another. It felt almost like- resignation. An odd word to associate with a kiss, comforting, perhaps? Most of all Dorian felt an overwhelming sense of correctness and belonging. As if everything that he’d been through had led him here, this point, to The Inquisition, to friendship and to Bull.

They part, Bull lets out a low pleased hum. “So?” A wicked grin crosses Dorian's lips as he feels the rumble of Bull’s chest. “How do you suggest we proceed The Iron Bull?”

“As long as you’re here, I’m good. I think we just take it from there,”

“You mean ‘make it up as we go’?” Dorian lets out a laugh, feeling comforted by Bulls huge hands resting on his hips.

“You have a better idea?” Bull returns Dorian’s grin with a crooked smile of his own.

“I just might,” Dorian gently pulled on Bull’s harness, leading him toward the edge of the bed, their lips meeting once again.


End file.
